the Commander

the Commander is flaps down
on approach to the final tarmac
wrapping up his mission

Pa is on the way out
or maybe in
depending how you read it

a few years ago he drove us
back from Tony’s Restaurant
in an Arizona hill town

as he sped hard to pass a truck
i commented, “so you miss
flying those WWII PBY’s, Tom”

we all laughed
and to tears will laugh again
saluting the Commander

counsel

keeping my distance
working on other things
well, on the porch sipping coffee
while she does garden cleanup

the trash man is coming
i tell her it will be 90 today
interrupting drinking and heavy thinking
she calls me to help

as she attempts to stuff
a seventy pound glump of zucchini plants
into a thirty pound capacity bag,
providing counsel i advise

i can’t be done, won’t be done
and she does it anyway
then lugs all
to the curb for pickup

instead of yard work
perhaps i could convince her
to collect postage stamps,
they’re easier to lift

market watch

with real time quotes
I can watch it all
second by second
keeping a tight hand

today i set all in place
had my coffee
did other things
often reviewing

checked often,
after two and a half hours
i realized it is Sunday,
the market is closed

thunder blue

thunder blue
are you true
had to write that true line cause it sounds
like a mid twentieth century torch song
in a night club with burgundy velvet drapery
the clinking of glasses, voices and laughter
and a lot of smoking going on
this table, please
i want to be close to the band stand

lets put rain beating against the windows
and Bogart and Bacall hats down walking in the rain
this is where the thunder comes in
hey, there’s Gene Kelly
he wants to dance in the downpour
holly mackerel, it’s a musical
no wonder i got up early
i didn’t want to miss anything

spare a quarter, spare a quarter
you win some and you lose a few
there’s the line by the church
they feed indigents breakfast
that looks like your mother
and it’s you she’s carrying
how’s your cards look now
little smarty pants

my son was here

now to put away in my head that my son was here
with his wife and two young daughters
children and grandchildren, ours for a week
they’ve gone back home

m. and i must reassemble,
meals once again quiet and simple
in the old house silent
where already clocks tick louder

we’ll drive fewer miles
with no one to show,
the heavy and hard to reach special chores will be undone
without assistance from the skilled, able younger man

and no one will thrill looking hard for berries, frogs or eagles
the happy calliope of the ice cream truck will pass barely noticed
soon leaves will dry crisp and golden unseen by them
as the flapping wings and honks of wild geese soar low overhead

seasons turn rolling like clouds on the wind
the lake will grow wild and thrash
then grey lie calm still, iced over
without their attention

while great joy lingers
there is also sadness in the wake
for all great moments are not all game winning seconds
the first and the fastest and the farthest and the medals

sometimes the joys are quiet
as were moments seated on the back porch
at night in low voice talking
saying nothing in particular

life is a trade of joys and sorrows
here’s a toast to them
warm toast and butter to the joys
with homemade jelly smeared all over it

a crowd of poets

a crowd of poets
is a sad thing,
they're always holding hands
and crying

lincoln train

I found accounts that showed it came near the village of New London, Ohio, only a few miles from here. The year was 1865.


cool for April, spring came late that year
somber groups dispersed along the track
as far as the eye could see, neighbors in the night
reduced to profiles in the darkness

by the hour all were really tired
nervous in anticipation, wishing it’d arrive
3:25 in the morning, there about
there was a spot of wavering light in the distance

the same instant a voice cried out
then young Earl spotted it
“it’s coming” his wavering shout rang like a shot
over the now silent multitude assembled

some sobbing could be heard
as the lumbering of the locomotive slowly passed
the dark shadow of the funeral train
carrying the body of their fallen leader.

another season

i heard a frog voice last night at three
once every thirty seconds
old Herb did every fifteen
but that was a month ago

another month,
another season,
another frog?

you could spell the frog’s name Herb,
but what he said was erb
guess that’s herb with a small H

maybe frogs
have trouble
with their h’s.

spell

hands over apple carts
heels stomping knaves
strapped on a barrel
pearls hidden in caves

after line thimbles
knotted in haste
stumble and dribble
cookies to paste

orange, blue and pink
everything beckons
don’t even think
of askin’ for seconds

oh, i lost it
I did, more or less
t’was casting a spell,
least, that’d be my guess

where do i park it

in my head I still have
my 52 Chevy pickup truck
that i sold fourteen years ago

was the same make and model
as Phil’s who had the gas station
across the street when i was a kid

where we used to play
while he worked on cars
and i rode in the back when he took
his son and i out to the family farm

i found an old truck like it, loved it
got it back like old and new
it ticked, ticked, ticked

so now where do i park it
in my mind?

leaping leapers - good fortune

i fell, what the hell
washing the car
didn’t fall far
and i rolled

like Batman Senior. jumping out of an airplane
my feet didn’t tangle in the parachute
wasn’t about to break anything on the landing
not with a bucket in the way, not this time

lying on my back wet in driveway water
staying put, looking at the sky, like i oughter
knew i learned my lesson the last time
and that was the - way last time

i figured a clean front fender
wasn’t worth a month in a cast, not again
man, i was computin’ fast
tuck and roll, tuck and roll

now i have to call my friends
tell all the good fortune i’ve captured
or maybe just take a nap instead,
either way, i’m smiling, unfractured

direct, indirect

being a direct descendant
of one hundred fifty ten thousand years
off the Polish isles near the bleak Russian tundra
i hugged a widdle blankie over my shoulder

my french/scotch/irish/cherokee bride
on the other hand, spurned all covers
as one born in the boileroom of the boiler making plant
generates her own heat and some for the city of Minneapolis
and for Pittsburgh

special on the board

on the board two, scrambled with cheese
get the signal, shake off a menu
heavy hitter Nicky takes my order
try to see the newspaper
down the pipe, over the shoulder of
the guy at the table in front of me
on the board it's three for, two opposed,
the ayes have it, no rain today

on deck, waiting my order, making notes
off the board it’s two flips and a tuck
did a flip back and curl into reality
tasted good, grease is good
I like bacon, sipped coffee,
left a buck ride on the table
am I fit to drive?

winky and blinky

winky and blinky out at night
by light of a cheddar moon
laughed til they cried and hung on tight
as they pranced to every tune

hop a diddle they could
crisp and doodle might
doing what they really should
and thusly passed the night

see the hours fly on by
wrapped to the skin in fest
spinning, swimming eye to eye
of course you know the rest

planted on a quiet hill
on the road to the hereafter
some say sometimes when nights are still
you can hear bits of their laughter

poetry masters

oh yes, we’ve poetry masters
like America’s Walt Whitman
who thump covered a lot of bases
green waving fields, lightening flashes
blood red and dead gray fallen soldiers

bubbles of crystal clear rippling streams
by farmer’s long faces and torches
on the global sphere mystery and chants
for ten thousand of thousands of years
forward and back leaping

know how times have changed
for all of us
for in all of his words
of roots, songs, joys, and power,
of fury, nomads, nations, legions, submission,

banners, fires burning, pageants
and frost-mellowed berries
in those cherished times of olde
some lonely dim shadowed snowy eve
with walking staff and collar up

Walt never mentioned
stopping on his way home
to pick up a lotto ticket,
pizza with his favorite topping
or a movie

if here now, today
maybe stop for a pizza and a beer
i don't know, don't think he'd own a TV
and, stewards of the earth,
where'd the clear water go

ain't got money

even though we ain’t got money
i’m so in love with you honey
Kenny loggins wrote that near forty years ago
today i heard the anne murray recording
over the speakers at the festival
where the clock seems wound back years
in the heights
a small Ohio town
that managed to stay that way

this morning to the fire station for pancakes
this afternoon a short block walk
from the single village stop light
to a barbeque downtown

like it was
so it remains
small talk
happy voices
familiar faces
a peaceful village
god bless the little towns

where'd de go?

no mosquitoes okay
but where’s the lightning bugs
or fireflies, as some say,
but that’s in other parts

not here in humid hot hell
take a breath and sweat
stick to the chair summer
winged beetleful ohio

where’d de go?
gimmie da glow
i wanna know
those delightful iridescent call 'em yellow lightning bugs

da filthy rich

yeah, buddy? you say
you got a million bucks
well that’s just fine
now take a step back in line there, son

we gots us some real money folk comin in
you noticed the world making money
and stealin’ what they have to
well, only out’a necessity, that’s all

i’m telling you, kid
they don’t mean nuthin’ by it
what chew called there?
yeah, you. . . .

oh, that’s fine, now like i say
the rich gets richer
while the rest of you Head Count
is not needed for much of nuthin’

unless is for being
good foot soldiers
we need those, you see
they pick up things on the parade grounds

and i don’t mean jes communicable diseases
hah, hah, pieces of paper and shit like that
an' they can walk in a straight line
an' everything

an' look fine for when
the real important people,
the important people, make their speeches
ya hear me? - don’t chew see?

now step a little closer,
crowd in here,
that’s it
so’s i donze haz ta yell

nightmare

i know you were renting,
well, your home is our house now
you see, we are going to buy it
would you move out please

wait, what i said last week
forget about it
yeah, cancel the movers
we changed our mind

see if you can get
your deposit back on the new place
oh, and here, this stuff
was in your mailbox

i guess it’s yours again,
most of it’s junk mail anyway
hope you don’t mind,
i clipped out all the coupons

when i'm flying

often we pass a certain high tension pole
supporting large power lines
that run for miles over the rolling country side
in mornings, large birds called turkey vultures or buzzards
set on the metal branches with wings partially spread
to dry them from nightly dew

one of the most skilled aviary flyers in the Americas,
these giants have been seen to soar
as long as six hours
without flapping their wings

today on the pinnacle of the tall vertical metal tower
a bird perched, wings fully extended
in it’s full six foot span
gallant as an eagle on an American emblem

seeing that bird atop all, in golden morning light
my wife put words in that wild creature’s beak
when she said,
“this is what i look like when i’m flying.”

at the same time
he whispered to me
“i can soar higher, longer, faster
than you can ever dream.”

tend your still

words on a note
i know i wrote
cause it was on a piece of paper
in my pocket

couldn’t figure why
i asked her and yes, she said it
that’s why i wrote it down
tend your still

nice words together
i asked what it means
she said it’s what you do
in West Virginia

three steps

needed house front steps,
didn’t want wood,
in our town it’s normal to call a cement contractor
that’s a guy who has a truck and pours cement

not a problem, i’d call a guy, then another and another
the job to pour three steps was too small to be bothered with
they had big jobs, long driveways to keep them from tiny steps
so i thought and thought - and thought of stone

at the stone quarry they said they could do it,
cut Indiana Blue Sandstone i selected, and deliver it,
set the stone down one , two, three
all i had to do was provide the dimensions for three blocks

three weeks i planned. the first time i measured i thought i had it
a few days later i checked my figures and they were wrong,
so i did it again, three blocks, one, two, three on top of each other
it was many days to get it right.

i had to prepare the ground, no one else would do it,
so I raked, then measured the first block, the second had to fit
back under the wood of the door, and the third
had to be even with the inside floor. one, two, three

on and on i figured stone dimensions, and finally had it right.
the bottom block was largest,
the second and third were equally smaller.
it all would fit, everything tight.

the day they delivered the stone in a large truck with a crane,
they had one block cut wrong by two inches on one side.
I recalculated and told them put them down. one, two, three
in a half hour i had them down and perfect,

you can’t tell they made a cutting error.
now we have our three stone steps
the bottom, the second recessed under the Georgian doorway
the third level with the inside wood floor

come back in two hundred years, you’ll see
the house may be gone,
but the steps will be there
one, two, three

dry my tears

dry my tears
in my dreams
i'm in my world
you are you

i may yell
but don’t cry often
hug my fears
then they soften

truth over fiction

a fast horse pays
the loser begs
truth is fiction
with better legs

M. is going shopping

M. is going shopping at trader joe’s
it’s an hour away
she’s taking me along
and will drop me off at a friend’s
who wants to show me his new bookcase - wow

that’ll take about a minute
so she told me to start now
to write down as many questions
about bookcases
that I can think of

4:09 a.m.

when I wake
in the middle of the night
as I often do,
should I listen with headphones
to radio reports on the BBC
or listen instead to the silence
and think my own thoughts?

what I was thinking in my world was dreaming not thinking
i can tell cause i woke up

what i was
thinking in
my world was
dreaming not
thinking i can
tell cause
i woke up

check out time

quite a morning breeze
that knocked down
her favorite dark red hollyhocks
while she was looking
out the kitchen window

then she saw it leap
through the flowers
in blowing rain and heavy winds
that came for hours and hours
one more frog followed the exit sign
one more for the road

leaving only a pair
out there
a boy frog
and his girlfrog friend
loving right down
to the very end

as luck would have it

as luck would have it
an expression that grew because others
recognized it, picked it up and rolled with it,
it became a part of the vernacular

so, as luck did have it, seven old friends
happened together for an afternoon
to laugh and compare
review and declare

five friends stopped by our home
fifty years ago five of us were in that summer,
that particular time of our young lives,
before our first year of high school began

if we could have fed our friends
and wrapped them in blankets
they would have stayed all night
however, on improvisation we did okay

mark it as a day well done
in light drink, snacks, long talk and laughter
pile this onto our stack of pleasant memories
of life worth living - good fortune for us

the whittler

sun shines on a small diner
built a century past
on what is still a quiet off street
in the little town
we enter, take a table
the business is slow

two quiet women are at one table
three happy workers lunch at the counter
they are having a good old time
we hear the youngest tells the others
he is going to whittle this weekend
then shows his new large very sharp pocket knife
they all marvel

then the older says what ever you do
be sure you don’t cut off your thumb
of course not, the younger says, but why say that?
cause the guy says, you’re going to need it
to pick up your finger
much laughter filled the room

Mexican food

Mexican food at a roadside diner
with a chic-latin name in Somewhere’sville, Ohio
the stucco outside painted red and blue, looks right
with food prepared by Mexicans
from ingredients,
though available locally,
were probably frozen and trucked
across long American highways from anywhere

pleasant low volume music was authentic
as I imagine were the workers immigration cards
I ordered three enchiladas stuffed with
some kind of white cheese - gooey
in a sauce once based on tomatoes
currently based on grease and memories
of how it could be somewhere
the beans and rice were good, so was the coffee
the cost reasonable, the food wasn’t terrible,
it also had precious little to do with Mexico
hey, you want good Mexican food
better go to California

the shallow cove

the shallow cove narrows
by brushes and thickets
our old row boat sparkles
under sunned running waters

when spring floods the low lands
all return and rebuild
for memories run deeper
than fat fish go up stream

papoon

papoon, the Iroquois called it
when they gave it to settlers
along the Susquehanna river
around 1779

knee high by the fourth of july. we say
the Indians probably had a version
or made a motion with their hand
it was special for them also

it’s planted in fields prepared and well tended
now an American tradition
seeded in good long rows
they’ve got the procedure down pat

and hope for rain
the sun does the rest
tall and green with wispy tassels on the stalks
then pick it at the peak

old timers made pipes from the cobs,
you clean the golden vegetable, cook it
every one runs to devour the feast
sure tastes good

add butter and salt the way you like
I sure do, since I was a kid
means it’s really summer
sweet corn

sunday my brother

Sunday my brother
now an old fisherman
took us in his boat
up brown river

through turns and trees
years fell away in ripples
as in seasons long ago
when humid air was still

turtles, fish, mossy fallen painted signs
by snags from leaning, half sunken trees
a heron tall in the branches watching
the river course changes
from flood and growth
always changing
water up and water down

a golf course where a farm used to be
now many new houses
old shacks fallen
a corner where we camped
another where we fished
duck blind in the marsh
a spot we had ventured to
paddling a canoe up mud brook creek
by jumping fish, sleeping deer and water birds
some sweet summer ago

river fest

this morning
while meandering quietly at the piano
i paused and heard the patter out side
not raindrops this time

it was runners in a something k event
we went out to see them go by
then later came youngsters in a little k
only last night from the front door we saw
fireworks boom over the river
and launch high golden,
red, flashes sparkles blue dripping fire
booms to shatter the evening sky
filling the night for revelers
to open hearts
hello the neighbors
hear the music

today the boom was thunder
a real corker, rain in buckets
seemingly a never ender
that finished in the nick of time
for the start of the parade

sunshine for the floats, the twirlers,
fire truck and the marching band
then off to the firehouse for a barbeque,
and the library for the book sale

tonight it's bands again
rides and games
food booths and fun
for children of all ages

make some noise
hold some events
and the town will turn out
to unify and enjoy
another fine summer weekend

face lift for an old village

a bed and breakfast
all decked out, not moving
like a ship in dry dock
the owner’s husband split
so she dressed the place like a dollhouse
lacked only a key to wind it up

my wife liked it, but does more shopping than I
not into pastels and ruffles myself
ok, little wrapped chocolates in a dish
no oil lamps I understand, electricity is fine

but I missed the manly respect to history in detail
give me a hammer, saw, raw wood and cigar smoke
let me walk old boards not puffy carpet

on the street I hum obscure half melodies
watch stylish girls window shop
and startle to the loud music booms
from SUV’s cruising slowly by

an old town in new times
caught twix and tween
undecided which way to go
leaving tourists to wander

pond '09

the day before spring really began,
five or six feet tall when stretching,
the long neck, long winged blue heron
got twenty of our fish

tore heck out of the pond in his frenzy
a neighbor saw it on our roof, damn invader
Big Red and Reddy-Whitey gone, among others
for ten years they’d been here,ours to enjoy

the pond now runs anew,
with the remaining nine,
the fortunate few
that made the cut

Frank, the angry bluegill, record size for sure,
and fifteen, or so, inch-long tiny baby fish are hiding
in the moss usually, occasionally swimming round
and around in the summer sun, and growing,

a small water snake will go
when I can get him,
hopefully soon, before he’s any larger
let’s call him Slither

then the good surprise, baby frogs
two I saw yesterday, smaller than I would have imagined,
only a half-finger’s length each, arms and legs,
with eyes, protruding dark spheres, tiny above the water

the small pond is teaming growth, new associations
water bugs - many, but don’t count
cause they’re too varied, small and quick
to tell apart and name them

woodpeckers, black birds, sparrows,
wrens, orioles, robins, of course,
and others, dash around for a drink
or a splash in the small falls,

giant bright red and pale orange blossoms
of the lily, with pads that cover
two-thirds of the water’s surface,
like the book says they should

as guardian for this while,
I’m checking on it
pour in some biological sauce now and then,
mostly leave it be, keeping peace

while M. gardens around,
an eye out for the serpent
and as if there isn’t enough for them to eat,
she feeds the fish, but they like it

we’re caretakers,
for this dot of time,
on this lovely tiny plot
tucked back, in what was the center of he old village,
behind our home built in the 1830’s
where the preacher lived over forty-two years,
and then he died, then she did too

as the earth spins
some things end
others begin
sun goes up
sun goes down,
hey, it’s nice to be around

come on, summer
give it your best shot

a descended larynx

a descended larynx
is why you speak
and your dog can only try
sadness, though, is more common
many animals can cry

highway 80

on highway 80 across Pennsylvania we saw deer
not houses, barns, towns, people, cows or barking dogs
occasionally in the distance a town
rooftops and a steeple in the woods, jammed under trees

incredible, and true, passing through
there is only green leaf wilderness to be seen
roll on trees on rolling green in morning dew
hill after hill, rolling green and on

highway not filled with greyhound buses
their time gone in the passing lane
where large 18 wheelers pulling three
and private vehicles, SUV’s, roll on

early in the morn heard portions
of three songs on the radio, only three
get down, get down, cocaine, ho, ho, hosanna and
from a half century ago jerry lee lewis - great balls of fire

radio off then, we rolled on with the rest of them
up and down long hills, in silence, and on through green
road hum the beat and the accompaniment, and on
they could have called it treesylvania

open to the passionate long green and misty air
mysteries under leaves by summer deer
hills, rivers and long cloud sky abound
once indians, then pioneers, first walked this way

all the while we sleep

Chew this one slowly. Taking a pause. Be back later.


all the while we sleep
dancing in dream
someone is watching

over long fields of grass
through the great forests
lonely small animals search
for food, or the way to water
for a drink

in stillness the trees
hold their arms up
protecting those beneath
without question
the center of that world
the one unobserved

news sources don’t explain
that an old oak is near death
outliving its usefulness
because a child’s swing is gone
and no one will again
climb that high to tie new ropes

or that a great rock has rolled
for eons until the flaked gram is mistaken
for another piece of sand castle

while we sleep it goes on
in the personage of the milkman and baker
i remember the horse-drawn wagon
used once in a while,
painted red, and crawling down our main street
so that half-pints of cream would be there
chilled in the morning by
crisp, nose-pinching air

a stump has given way for a babe
a green shoot, that given half a chance
could grow larger than the parent
but probably won’t because of what is now
a poor location for a tree

june bugs and fire flies
not in number that we knew
no longer are they swept from the sidewalks
grasshoppers and dragon flies
aren’t about quite as they were
and violets, unceasingly underfoot
are less frequent

the hand-crank telephone
that slept in the shed
is gone to a collector
and given a price

the one-armed man
who rolled his own cigarettes
isn’t at the gas station in the afternoons
to tell us his stories
and his son has moved to the city

two-laners are multiplied
one-laners are grown over
and the last remnants of the old street car bed
are just gone

while we sleep one truck
slows in the snow
as furious windshield-wipers battle
to clear the glass
someone is looking, looking into a blue
and motionless night

glowing red barns
sporting tobacco leafs picture
and larger than life yellow words
are dirty grey between wide gaps
from board to board
the wind uses this place now
to hum through

but the grass still grows
short, thin and tireless to trampling
amid papers bags and candy wrappers
no matter
the unknown, never mown glen
harbors a curious ant
enjoying a climb up
and around
to seemingly nowhere

and the river still flows
where my brother and i
took the great canoe in search of ducks
but just as much, in search of adventure
that went with the south river brook

all the while we sleep
someone is dancing over our dreams
with you and i where we were
or might have been
another time and altogether

one day you will do the same
forever and forever ‘til forever

ninety degrees

ninety degrees, humid and full up on robins
plus four eggs on deck in the nest
no one sits on the them today
must be plenty warm enough

one robin in the bird bath
one waiting, looks like he’s sweating
bird family’s sharing water space
most of the time, or too hot to argue

one this side of the pond
one’s in the water falls,
one waiting
everyone’s wet, ruffled and cranky

‘cept the eggs
they’re getting
their newbie brains
cooked in the shell



went out to check the nest
a bird’s back with the eggs
took five minutes for it to sit down
must be hot on the bird’s bottom

a billion

the other day I wrote about chocolate
a pleasant thought for us,
this morning on the BBC I heard
the World Food Organization announced
the number of hungry people in the world
is now estimated to be a billion

that’s one of every six people
who don’t have enough to eat
among these are parents
needing food to feed
their hungry children

like you, i have no answers
other than doing the best we can
in this world
with each other
one person at a time

jungle fish

This is a poem i posted in April. I put it out again for no special reason;I just felt like it.

jungle fish

you and i
haven’t seen it all
don’t say you have
don’t think about it
no need to

not all the world caresses
some hurts
and dumps upon us
in papers and magazines
the news of course, they call it that
the video, the Internet that brings pieces
bam banging slapping sounds
pumping games flashing colors into children's heads
Marshall McLuhan was right the medium is the message
now i add, TV did more to destroy the world than educate
I have seen Guatemalan jungle natives in see-through straw huts
watching far away New York soap operas
on TV powered by a noisy gas generator
the soap opera had NYC folk
in nice clothes and makeup
drinks in hand and the natives,
ready to throw a spear through a monkey,
were sitting women breast naked in
a rag covering their crotches
and I’m walking by their hut and
can look right through it
and see them sitting glazed over stuck to the screen.
maybe they flashed me the peace sign
and maybe I gave them the finger
cause they were screwed

media chunks show how people dress and hold their heads
how they clothe their pet animals
while city buses so full
those at the door exit to let others on
dead fish are laid to rest in tins and wait consumption this way

passing by are the rich and famous in their rings and finery
with guards tagging alongside
lest reality get too close
best they remain cushioned
aloof from commoners and dirt poor

on the street notices are
handed by strangers to strangers
pasted across shop windows
stuffed in trash cans or
dropped they litter the streets
are stepped upon, pushed along
where the head count clashes with
the clean, pressed white shirts and latest ties
and we, hats on backwards
in over sized sacky things to cover how fat we are
that resemble sports team garments,
wrinkled sweat stained bags with a bright bold number on it
the number of a hero on the squad
named for a predatory animal
as a sweaty tourist screams at the counter waitress
give me a coke before I die

and I see them sun glassed now
all the while quick stepping alone
bumping into each other
unaware, as if stoned
talking on cell phones
while the senseless talk to themselves
and need no phone
who is changing the world?

for all the while
the sun goes up
the sun goes down

past eleven

past eleven we read
then went to bed
had earphone on my head
listened to jazz

seemed only a moment later
she said, “mnff enofff mnevff”
“good night”, i replied
then with one eye

i glanced at the clock
it was 4:22
one of us must have been talking
to the sand man

chocolate

wait, don’t get up, nothing else will do,
if we don’t have any, that’s okay,
i won’t eat any, chocolate, that is

there’s more that way for the rest of the world
and others may really need it
consider it practically a good deed

I ‘ll get by just thinking about it,
not all the time of course, just now and then
like now, when I really would like some

earth angle

we’re on an angle here folks
whether you’re north or south
a peak happened yesterday - 21 June
not a moment too soon

you could tell by the moon
the slant of the sun
or a shadow on the wall
what season’s begun

which one we’ve lost
and has started to run us
all the way back
the other way
from which we’ve just come

or do you live in a cave maybe
and see in the dark
with eyes in your butt?
if so, how's your wireless?

the boys on the garbage truck

the boys on the garbage truck
specifically, on the leaves and sticks truck
yard waste they call it, somebody named it that
well, they’re out there this morning, on schedule

i walked out to retrieve our cans and heard their chatter
one lad laughed when he told me he was giving grief to the driver
having fun they were, keeping it light
while doing a ton of work for everyone in town

house to house they pick up heavy containers
and throw the stuff on the giant truck
i don’t know if the same crew switches trucks for the garbage
and return for the recyclables

but they keep going
every day another route
picking it up, throwing it on,
and on and on

are they paid well, or are they convicts on work parole?
hard to tell because of how young people dress these days,
returning every week, in all weather
we’re all mighty fortunate they do

sunday morning at JC Penny

Sunday morning at JC Penny’s
quiet with no confusion
the stately tall elderly man in the bow tie
has come out of retirement to work a bit

he’s the cashier in the men’s department
it’s what he knows how to do well
can assist, chat if you want, and he gets contact
with people, he’s good at that

a long time ago on my first jobs
i worked Sundays
guess when you’re older and alone
that’s also a fine way to end

mission to the moon

as in the Wizard of Oz,
pay no attention to the man
behind the curtain,
no need disturb the flow of thought

the U. S. government announces
returning to the moon
to look for water
a space craft is going there,
up and away

in no unfamiliar logic
the best minds available in government
boasting the world's most sophisticated technology
have decided this scientific endeavor,
so we'll be bombing for water

squirrel feeding

started feeding the squirrel
the mother mostly
M. was first to hold a peanut
in her hand as Mother Squirrel took it
two younger squirrels are in the nest
but come down only occasionally

then I fed Mother Squirrel, hand to mouth
now a hundred peanuts and a few days later
Mother Squirrel is just as jumpy and quick
as the first day,
does no good to tell a wild animal to calm down

it comes around when we are out, to get us moving
then proceeds with extreme caution
every time, it moves backward and forward lightening fast
unsure where to go, as if half blind
M. says it is because the eyes are the side of it’s head
good point, but i think it doesn’t see well

bit my finger once, and oh so gently
not like crunching something
i felt the teeth rubbing my finger
she was looking for peanut
and got it the second try,
so who’s learning what here?
i guess we're both learning the other's ways

aviary action

all packed with baby birds
here and there are the nests
up and down in trees, on low hanging eaves
then when mostly empty of the first brood
all over the ground the parents guide the newbies

hawks and the occasional eagle are overhead
along with seagulls, egrets, herons, geese, ducks,
swans, robins, doves, black birds, sparrows
wrens, hummingbirds, orioles, woodpeckers
and the lesser known in these parts, unidentifiables on migration,

fluttering aviary teams in lines, flocks or mismanaged irregular bunches
twisting in air, turning, soaring and dashing
a natural world of allusion and distraction,
color, movement, flight, flutter and action,
i imagine, also involved is a bit of birdly satisfaction

in the beginning

how frogs got to our pond in the first place
is an imponderable
the fenced in backyard pond is remote for a frog
a block from the river
a large cove is a block to the north
another cove is a few blocks west
they aren’t taking taxis to get here
no blinking signs written in Frog advertise room and board

a year ago four came late one eve
Herb, our second season frog, called them, I know,
on rainy nights they move,
sought his alluring voice
it was the season of hot frog love

their voices are all alike to me
but it was three girl frogs that showed up, triplets no doubt,
maybe girl frogs croak also, sing that is. or whatever,
that male frog noise to them must sound like a siren to Ulysses,
or Sinatra at the Copacabana, cause they came

now they’re all gone
we’re starting from scratch
so when it rains
who is going to call them?
do they just stumble around the neighborhood,
after a rowdy night on the prowl
until they find the place?
heaven only knows

already mid june

a last look from the porch before bed
a robin, born a few weeks ago, loudly chirps
alone, perhaps unsure of his new life
has returned to spend the night
in his now abandoned home nest

a harmless insect, junebugs, from the lake
Canadians call them Yankee soldiers
on this side Ohioans call them Canadian solders
swarm in from for two weeks each June,
food for the birds, annoying everyone else, they come to die
their corpses make a mess, litter everywhere

today’s the day, the very day the last of them,
they are through living
as I close the screen door to enter the house
a flash of yellow light catches my eye,
it is first firefly,
now it is their time,
my California wife thought they were a Walt Disney invention
never saw a real one until we moved to Ohio
the arrival of lightening bugs is a changing of the guard,
a turning of the key,
like a winding of the clock
summer moves in

south africa

one point four kilometers down
61 dead in an abandoned gold mine
illegal workers
in a part of the mine that was closed
because it was too dangerous

children have been orphaned
and women have been widowed
they weren’t looking to get wealthy
but to eat, care for their families
and perhaps get away
to where they could live

Frog One-One - Reprise

Now in these hollow frogless times, indulge me as I turn back to a year ago for this forgotten frog favorite.



Frog One-One

i got in the car
and drove to the shopping plaza
it was about empty and i was going slowly
driving in circles
in the parking lot
my brain was on overdrive

my turn signal on
it blinked, but i didn't
until i nearly ran out of gas
and then about cried when i realized it was true
cause i triple checked, twice
there was no store called
Frog Aid

i want to explain, dear reader
we saw them, well she pointed them out to me
now there are four
like a Sergio Leone movie
four, tall in the saddle
well, . . . in the pond

and she says they're the same four
"Which same?" i yelled

"Say that three times fast," she said
as she did it, "Which same, which same, which same."

i tried and couldn't do it
once i had to read a commercial for Misses Pauls Fish Sticks in L.A. at KBIG
and i finally turned it over to Dave the Slave in the midnight cave,
another announcer, cause i couldn't say fish sticks smoothly

"which same" gave me the same trouble
as fish sticks

but my gut feeling told me
these are all new guys
four hiding, sneaking frogs
lurking out there
waiting for sundown

i drove home, cause i knew what i had to do

"Frog One-One, may I help you," the voice said with authority

"That's what I want to know. There's four in the pond."

i heard him drop the phone

then, "Is anyone at home?" he asked.

"I'm calling from home."

"Get out of town!" he said.

"I'm on my way."

"No, I mean are you kidding?" he asked.

"Uh, . . . what part?"

dial tone

that was two hours ago
i've been back at the shopping plaza parking lot
driving in more circles
determined to find a
Frogs Are Us
. . . i need to make a donation

four a.m. again

open my eyes to red glowing lights that read four a.m. i’m thinking poetry in absolute silence where words float in then sitting I’ve got jazz passages in my head for Some Enchanted Evening hearing Enzio Pinza sing a few lines i didn’t play anything didn’t hear anything just started thinking about, it’s nearly dawn, street lamps just turned off the coffee i’m putting on good morning world life’s a song isn’t it? how are you doing anyway? waking easy i hope thinking too much is a hell of a way to wake up

oiling

was putting linseed oil on the plank floors of my lab,
it used to be the cookhouse
back when it was constructed in 1838,
as i do, the old place needs tender maintenance

my knees ache from today’s labor
but i cleaned up, and one more section’s finished
M. went out to town for food shopping,
she’ll put a fine meal together by sundown

now sitting here typing, working these words out
i see she just drove in the drive, and it’s a good thing,
though life together isn't always a bowl of cherries
i’d sure miss her if she wasn’t around

too bad we couldn’t just oil up each other,
rub it in slowly with a nice soft cloth
in easy circular motions
until we both looked and felt like new

stronger than steel

after several days parked under a tree
our car developed a spider web on the rear bumper
a massive heavy weave laden with the insects
that swarm a few days every June
when north winds carry them in a cloud
across Lake Erie from Canada

I tore off three corners of the web
and left a major strand holding the load
of snagged Canadian soldiers
and thought of it dangling as I drove
to a nearby store, then home again

as I passed one car I wondered
did he see my web flapping like a pennant
I wasn’t ashamed, oh contraire, i was nearly proud
it was an experiment
what man made thing
could hang tight in a torrent of wind like that?
certainly not me by my shirt
or maybe not me from my belt
strand for strand it is said spider webs
have an incredible tensile strength stronger then steel,

so after a few wind blown minutes to the store and back
I pulled the car into our drive, parked,
then immediately checked the web
it was gone

hyphenation

why do only women do it?
I’ll hyphenate my name
to honor my mother’s family
give me a bigger name
to confuse and aggravate people

wait, instead I’ll do it right
and use a commercial product
and perhaps the company will
send money for the endorsement
call me Jack Sender-Campbell Soup



(cash or money order only)

four thirty-seven a.m.

when I looked at the clock
it was wholly night - totally

big still and darkness
hung air

no wind blew
nothing could be heard

no trains, no traffic
no light
no frog, birds asleep, insects quiet
it had become the meaning
silent night

garage sale

an alert notice bannered the local paper
attention – don’t miss it
the once-a- year whole town garage sale is a happening
and god almighty good glory the sun is shining today

folks in colorful, rumpled, weekend-casual
doin' a bit o'work leisure wear
have unloaded all manner of goods
that pack, end to end, the parking lot
where make-do tables and stacked boxes are set
row upon row
displaying once cherished items
now calling for your money, money, money
just a little of your money
cause these would-be venders don’t
want to store it any longer

more or less recently fresh coffee
and bakery goods are available at a trailer
all moderately priced for the good spirited group
now streaming like buffalo
amid sale items that are overall:
fifty per cent plastic, twenty percent broken,
the rest miscellaneous or generally non classifiable,
including the chipped and rusted
all discounted to rock bottom prices

no music blares, only excited hometown chatter is heard
in the flood of curious meanderers
in sun hats, suspenders, comfy shoes and canes,
elbow to elbow walking proud

including children on bicycles, in strollers, some towed
all in a great moving wave
along the sea of heads down, eyes alert,
hard core bargain hunters,
seeking and assessing under priced treasures,
most destined for little use
or to be packed away
until recycled again
some other day
at a future, as yet to be announced,
be ready when it comes, garage sale

if women

if women are so damn gentle
why does she get upset more than me?
I mean, i swept the porch,
she didn’t see,
only the lousy pile of debris
I left on the other side,
from sweeping the drive
sakes alive and Wah!
so it wasn’t put in a trash can, thirty lashes
we have four days before the trash guys arrive

she works hard and right
I commend her, she keeps all neat
runs her half of the ship tight
my list of good I do includes mud
not tracked in on my feet – how ‘bout that!
am I sweet, or what?

have to remind myself
she sees things her way, not mine,
cause astrologically speaking – we were born in
different places at different times,
must allow for different hearts,
different stops, different starts, different graces
we get things done at a different paces
boys versus girls in the human races
and so it goes

now, if I’m not hard enough
maybe it’s because I wake up early each day,
my skin gets too soft
from gentle morning sunshine
baby kissing my eyes,
she’d probably say the sun light in my eyes
goes in deep alright,
and has dried out my brain

reflection

as i reflect it seems
there are two extremes
beginning and end
with which to contend

my report begins in motion
a start somewhere in the middle
for the real beginning was so long ago
that i don’t hope to know

and beyond my lines
the end will come in view
but more will notice
when the end is past
certainly not me
and i doubt if you

the wall

the wall between us
is nearly transparent
as i can see
we can live within, i have found

and walk around half off the ground
through misty vapors
crowned with windows
to gothic cathedral height

invisible as sweet music
unfolding with the stars at night
treading softly on the grass
all seems so profound

as easily we pass
turning to the sound
with outstretched arms
we circle, around, around and around

enough of this that both
gladdens and saddens me
it is for you too
look around, go and see
i am yours, you are mine
we share the way
it’s ours this day
if we’re so close
why are you always
on the other side?

mourning doves

more than any other bird not on disassembly lines
an estimated 70 million are shot by hunters annually,
while other birds make happy songs
mourning doves emit a plaintive lament - coo coo coo
a favorite sound since mornings of my youth

look for them not in deep woods, but in open fields
and sitting on telephone wires
doves fly a swift 55 miles an hour in straight lines
eat only seeds
their poorly constructed nest tends to fall apart

unlike other birds, doves blink
sad like circus clown Emmet Kelly
who swept the spotlight with a broom,
they are cute,
yet, pitiful

Clockster Doctorettes

it’s three o’clock
my god – stop the clocks
you know which ones
take the weights off and the pendulums
load them in the car, gently
don’t forget the wind up keys
we’re on our way to the Clockster Docterettes
who claim knowledge to repair antique clocks
good luck to us – we’re on the way

speeding through tiny towns with hills wavy pretty
looking like that’s what snow is made for
send me a picture
then grant, sycamore, and state streets
where we dropped off the clocks for an estimate
oh, my – an estimate
hey , they run fine
give them a squirt of clock oil
not a frontal lobotomy


on the way back we passed camp Quilter –
she thought it said Quitter
at the local small town roadside drive though feed house
she got a large soft drink
the size of an Opel Cadet,
any larger it would need turn signals

i popped my ears trying to suck a small shake
the consistency of a goodyear tire
i sucked and sucked and then popped up a freezing slug
that hit the roof of my mouth and landed on my teeth
like two hundred pounds
of frozen dancing reindeer in tap shoes
i saw stars, screamed in pain
nearly passed out from the shock
but kept the car on the road
and sped us home

no call yet from the Clockster Doctorettes

beyond the pale

the one left in tall grass
behind the building out back
there is no hope
there just plain is

screw loose and fancy free
I have the time
and the inclination
don’t forget loveable

too bad I’m not magnetic
with an important message
like one you love and stuck on the refrigerator
but know so well by heart you ignore it

major antique barn

motor down the lonesome highway
to the major antique barn
that says it all
has it all
got to be haunted

pristine condition
repairable for the most part
hardly used or damn near worn smooth
from the ten thousand times junior
threw it down the stairs
dragged it down the street
and left it in the rain
before he buried it in the backyard

keepsakes once stuck in dusty corners
hidden by crazy aunt Beulah under the floor,
uncle Ned found it behind the attic
from the back of drawers
the bottoms of closets
taped behind a false wall in the bathroom
pulled out and sold off by the children
or left behind in the garage after a move

come look and wander by
wonder at thousands of memories

treasures from some once upon a long time ago
been in the family for ages
made there and carted here
old when grandma had it
original paint
each item a loving story now forgotten
there may be all for some
and could be some for all
break it - you buy it

robins eyes

It is said when a pickpocket walks down the street and all he sees are pockets.


you know robins see the worms
when they’re hopping around out there,
that’s how they find them
one after the other
from looking

they see the movement,
sharp eyes
too bad i couldn’t train one
to take the eye test for my driver’s license
if their legs were long enough to hit the brake
i’d let one drive me around
i feel lucky
and i’ve got insurance

all depends

no mowing today
straight rain for a second day
good for the earth
good for the crops
thank God
or the weatherman
depends what channel you’re tuned to

running wild

look out now
take heed
you’ll need
to hide the feed
cause in the lead
at great speed
here comes greed
the mighty steed
leaping hard
running wild

where's the old town?

where’s the old town?
gone with the old timers
who used to always be hanging around,
in an out of the stores and the bars
and the pool hall, Red and Woody, Danny and Duck Eggs
and all the ladies jolly and fair
can’t name ‘em all

driving, some’d stop right in the
middle of Main Street and just talk,
others drove around them
well i seen ‘em all, seems just a while ago,
now they’ve vanished like arrowheads in the fields
and the clear water creeks
or cut down with the woods i guess

just in the door of the old diner
i waved off a menu and ordered coffee
“alls i’m sayin’ is”
concentration please, eyes on the ball
tongue half hanging out mouth
i watched a guy stacking peas on his knife
with his fingers
you got to be kidding me

the clang, clang, clang, clang at the railroad crossing
a hundred yards away now a metallic
tap, tap, tap, tap buried under traffic hum
talking how Old Mrs. Batt swings right in order to turn left
“ warms up to a turn” he said and laughed
dipping toast into gravy

bits of chatter and the clack of cups and forks on plates
bounced the walls and ricocheted my way
thank god they never have a radio blarin’
my hand over my cup so
the waitress wouldn’t top off my coffee,
had it just right where I wanted it
talk jumped to school band practice,
I heard, “damn drum thunder”
they callin’ the tribe in, are they?

i sipped dark java and then turned my head to the window
where afternoon light danced in through the old maple tree
making patterns across the checkered table cloth
“pea brain ass wipes”
light rain pattered on the roof
a second later the door opened and
sally came in with her new bouffant-and-a- half, she checked it with a touch
and did a wiggle strut, as she moved to sit down
on that overgrown empty lot, over on the corner, there used to be a house
an abandoned wreck half fallen, they tore the rest down
it wasn’t that bad a place, as i recall
“hot damn, ‘s nearly summer”
pick ups trucks parked outside, this old joint was hopping
still has antlers on the wall i observed
and it made me smile

still churning and a kicking,
the old town’s a sleeping babe
that rolled over, curled a leg
and tucked the covers under her chin
taking up a new position

nearly june

nearly June and our swinging sun
has worked it’s way around the side of the house.
a good odd thing the settlers did
laid the streets at a thirty degree angle
north by north east to south by south west
credit also to god, and the way the river runs

by June, at our 41 degree northen latitude
the morning sun leaps into the windows
on what we call the north side of the house
how about that,
what a sparkle

what a pleasant change for the summer
sun coming in from the north, sorta
that first golden hour of dawn,
a delight to wake up to
or, at least, have coffee with.

frog 09 - the season opener

after the usual cold Ohio winter
dryness came - no rain for a while
cool air has packed her bags and left
now finally spring is leaning on summer


we cleaned up the results of long winter neglect
got everything ready for the new season
things look changed, charged and reset, even the frog,
looking as if he recently crawled from his winter mud bed


Herb took nearly a week to get reacquainted
with us and the new frog year
now he’s talking to us again, like old times
today it rained, all day, on and off


this warm and sticky evening, in drizzle at dusk he hopped
out to the side and up to the heavy plank
that spans the pond
a few more hops to the middle, to reconnoiter


tonight he’ll use darkness and the rain to roam for a while
or call other roamers in, it’s what home frogs do
we’ll wait and see how it develops,
it's what frog watchers do

miracle heavenly father

Author Henry Miller said if one believes, then miracles happen. I don’t think you have to believe; I think it is up to us to pay attention to recognize when they occur.

today as i drove from a side road
a mile down a major heavy traffic area
at forty-five miles and hour
things went my way

through a dozen green traffic lights without pause
then onto the freeway when
it occurred to me
there is a divine something

the lights changing for me
didn’t happen by chance
luck is not in my repertoire
don’t believe in accidents

it had nothing to do with diligence or hard work
i was aware it was divine intervention,
no idea why the sudden miracle, i must have been due
haven’t changed my life style for doodley

robin's

robins and robin’s sons
from sun to sun, year to year
and the little bird girls too
have known our ways for generations

they fear us less
cause we live here too
we’re practically furniture
to fly around

and they keep returning
the same extended family
pecking around as we pass by
they don’t startle now and fly away

worms they want
and worms they’ll find
insects too, for the little ones

breed ‘em
feed, em
keep out of the way

teach them to find their own food
it’s robin’s work
in a robin’s day
it's a robin's world

best of both worlds

best of both worlds
it could be that way
as some perceive
as some friends say

for we spend time there
and some time here,
whether far or near
rapidly goes another year

as Romans have
a summer country home
so we do we, only ours
is in another country

quiet of the weekend

quiet of the weekend
final page of another week
turn out in comfortable clothes
stay at home chores present themselves

a pause from our regular endeavors
regroup to do it again
be thankful for what we have
mark it all down in the good

eyes down

five minutes to home
she found an odd button
that we put in the jar
for such things

her eyes to the ground
everywhere we go
oh, what she’s found
the jars are filling

she’s found money, buttons, badges,
chain, earrings, hair clips,
combs, pendants, knobs, hats, balls, t-shirts
and kittens in a tree

flying back this time
she stood up in the isle
bent down, picked up a quarter
others didn’t see

no matter where we are
don’t have to ask or remind her
whatever i need, i wait a bit,
she’ll find it

pond again

late May turns warmer
on the verge of mosquitoes
June bugs, and dragon flies,
fat dove on the roof of my lab
observes a moment, then is gone,
very small bunny running,
eating, playing, sitting, testing his speed
then a long day working robin,
always first one up, last one down,
swoops in,
scares the bunny up to speed again
Herb the frog stays center pond
makes his noise
we repeat it,
taking in nature
from lawn chairs
on the side line

steve

Steve works on our car
has a garage down the street
always busy when i slip in there

yet calm, relaxed and competent
wiping his hands on a rag as
we chat a bit

his manner lends ease to his customers
as does his assuredness that
problems will be rectified

it is a pleasure to do business with
the man who’s smile is genuine
and his comfort contagious

i don’t mind paying
for good service

your life

how you live your life
what you do with your time
is your business to work on, kid
all yours, i’ve got mine

i try to be a good example
it’s what i mean to do
show you what’s right, and hold you tight
i know you’ll make it through

i wish and hope the very best
you know, honey, i do
but it’s not me that’s living your life
it’s all yours, babe, and your life’s up to you

cheese in china

last week M said
she wanted to go to china alone
a couple of months in the outback
or whatever it’s called
away from the cities

without a tour
to see the village folk
what they do
how they dress, what they’re eating
so many of them in so much country

and when M’s sister calls to speak with her
i’ll say she’s in China
and her sister will ask,
“...What about cheese
in China?”

this train

nights are colder
now i’m older
it doesn’t surprise me
not a little bit

my ticket’s stamped
years ago in blue frosty snow
on a long forgotten train
when it was i can’t recall

no memories remain
i bet the wind knows
every haunting refrain
the old metal whistle blows

how much longer i ride
before my fare expires on this line
sure could use a sleeper and a diner car
the engineer’s a friend of mine

the robinses

their new nest where last year's was
on the top of the trellis by a corner of our house
three eggs, one already hatched
if we walk near it disturbs the elders

mother leaves and father warms and watches
or mother waits and father picks up food for all
the hardest working birds are robins
and it’s just begun

another month and the
youngsters will be hoping in the yard
parents will instruct how to find food
kids start slowly, but they learn

our way

Though at times it appears that way, this is not a diary, it’s a simple poetry blog (I like simple). Here’s one from Roma.

First, a writers comment: You know, when I read my stuff, I want it to run right along. If it meanders a bit for a reason, that's okay too.



our way

down our street
not even a street
a cobblestone alley
way – call it a way
down our way thirty seconds
we’re into the nearly on the corner bar Juliano’s

jeeze he has a happy face when we come in
thirty-something, thin and fit, always in a t-shirt
he and his charming wife run the place

we took position
on the tall wooden backless bar stools
not cozy, but we weren’t moving in
we came for a couple of quick glasses of wine
well, not quick
glasses of wine in Roma aren’t quick
not now, nor have they ever been

Juliano always recommends an
Italian red something we never heard of
and we partook
under soft amber light, sipped in slow time
mulling the day, how it played
no crowd as yet, nearly dinner hour
hardly a sound
we looked around, noted every thing
including paintings on the wall
oh boy, not much there
and no rush for us

we ordered a second glass
would you like to try something different?
no, grazie, the same

and thusly an hour slid along the bar
dropped on the floor
skid out the door, it did

thusly time went by the wayside
and we followed it home
I do tell, it was swell

gate 20

on our way to gate 20 in terminal A
we kept walking up and down
couldn’t find it

street numbers in Italy you expect to be hard to find
in some areas households choose their own number
any number they want
I’m going to call mine 007

in more orderly areas numbers run consecutively
with one side of the street independent of the other
so the 300 block could be across from the 700 block
odds on one side, even on the other, sometimes

finding a gate in the air terminal should be easy
after much looking
determining gate 20 wasn’t there,
we asked
a worker said it was not in terminal A
it was downstairs in the new terminal AA

A..A ?
in twenty years i’ve never heard an Italian stutter
there must be another malady to compensate for this lack
I’m sure it has something to do with numbering

will the next new terminal be AAA?
I’ll drink to that
or drive to it

second glance

Thanks to each of you for your participation in the comments section of this blog. Your words are encouragement.

The well hasn't run dry, there's more to do and say - poems, like the next hitters in the line up, are waiting on deck for a chance at the plate, but appease me a bit, today i wish to return to the core

goodbye roma

goodbye roma
i’ve had it with you
and might miss you
maybe after a while
cause you bother me
abuse and take me for granted
crowd me on your buses
push in front of me every time
i get in line
treat me with no regard
and when i’ve reached my limit
then you make fresh pasta
and tasty pizza
your wine’s good too
did i say i like your cheese?

one size fits all

to the airport
saw a crowd of dignitaries
military and police flood a special gate
Prince Charles came and left earlier this week
wasn’t him
tom hanks and ron howard were in town the other day

in the lounge it was me
and an old fart man
wearing a dorkhead teal mesh golf cap
as he stared into space
coughed
no, he didn’t cover his mouth

then saw me looking at him
as he sat there
with his drooling mouth hung open
I looked at him, he looked at me
just like prince Charles, we were waiting
for a plane

welcome to america

I.
“good evening
welcome to our flight
all passengers must be seated”
that seemed reasonable to me
then she said, “here’s how
to buckle your seat belt”
II.
i saw a guy who looked like Jonathan, my son
i told my wife, who saw
only a slight resemblance, and shrugged
i told her not to worry
it’s not like robins
i can tell one from the other
III.
i was in the supermarket thirty seconds
when a lady came within three feet of my shopping cart
with her shopping cart
and apologized
by the time i looked her way she was gone,
did she think i was packing heat?

pitiful degree

I met a man down in Hollywood
I ain't naming names
he really worked me over good
just like Jesse James

(from Poor, Poor Pitiful Me as sung by Linda Ronstadt
written by Warren Zevon)

pitiful degree

my blood is from Poland and the north since forever
normally my body is a degree or two cooler than hers
she is a touch of the Cherokee
I’ll drive the car this morning

she said it is good she’s not
riding a horse to the dentist
it would smell fear
and buck her off

ohio morning

Ohio morning rose
by it self today
i didn’t have to help
it was dark when i got up

and forgot the impending first crack of light
as slippered i listened from the porch
doves the only sound,
whatever they say, i’m sure they repeat themselves
i don’t count the way off highway hum

or the leaves rubbing together in a breath of breeze
or were they unfolding to make that noise?
i mean, trees are made compatible
yet may have to stretch and scratch when they wake

so then it was morning,
had coffee and tried in vain to consider
what the heck i’d been dreaming
that had seemed so darn important all night long

i heard Herb the frog say something
and wondered how he slept tucked in cold mud last winter
Ohio is like living in a primitive forest
without the monkeys, giant leaves and tumbling waterfalls

plus, we have a postman
i meant to say practically like living
and if you had to skip back to see what i am talking about
you’re not concentrating hard enough

wake up
and smell the frog

four-thirty a.m.

got up to think
about whatever I was dreaming
such a good thought
but couldn’t remember
so I changed my mind
like changing socks, changing a tire
a suit of clothes, walking a wire
clothes on the line
a suit of cards
sew my clothes, trim my nails
bust my balls, change my mind
back to sleep,
suits me fine
need to think
drift the brink
let’s go , Dream Maker
deal me in

dark flight

the first hours of a nine hour flight this day
were shaded from the light
It worked out that way
lamps down, shades drawn

made the flight a transition
like diving
beginning with trepidation, anticipation
then splash enter
another world

hold your breath, swim a few strokes
more than familiar,
it became comfortable

m. is in the row ahead of me
center section of the plane
the middle of three seats
a good speed for the engines
flight very smooth

for the first time I use her earplugs
that deaden the sound
put on my slippers
and turn on an overhead lamp
the entire experience in the half empty
smooth riding jet became

like reading comfortably in my living room
only I’m speeding ahead seven hundred mph
and not watching where we're going

rings

I.
in an old bog,
still and hidden in the woods
a twig falls into the waters
concentric circles that no one sees
run away

II.
by the sea or from a hill
follow the west bound
yellow sun go orange, to red,
to purple, going down

we spin
it rings
and comes up again
thank god it remains

III.
I stumbled on it
twice today
just walking
she saw it roll
and picked it up
a ring

time to return

Birds do it, bees do it. It must be good for you or at least a lot of fun. Yes it is fun. This isn’t about knock your socks off sex. This is migration.

First there were signs of a change in the weather when I quit wearing my heavy coat. Then my jacket was put aside. Yesterday I wore just a t-shirt. Tomorrow we fly from our winter Rome to summer Ohio.


nearly summer
time to return
this morning as i prepared hard
to get my things in order,
well, thinking about it,
she said to me,
i know how you’ll pack
a bunch balled up in a suitcase
with wires sticking out

okay,
so,
i wasn’t angry with her
in fact i laughed inside, hah, like that
because of my ability to recognize love
in it’s many forms
and know i have warm feelings for
wires and stuff like that
and then made a sandwich

a Rome tourist

for a few hours
walked around and questioned
a new tourist friend
capable and active

did you see . . . . . . . . .
yes, yes, and more yes
more than many, enough in a week
to digest a long while

every one soaks it up at their own pace
some leave and run
for new grounds
i came back for more

twenty years later
here i am still sorting it out,
soaking it in, and
not quite sure what to make of it

blog nature

the second nature of the blog
is like that of a marsh mellow
sugar frosted, and plump
lance it on a stick, over an open fire
it’s exciting, it’s fun, it shines,
flashes into flame
burns, sags, dips and crashes
what a finish, what a shame

did laundry

did laundry at nine
at Luciano’s across the wild busy street
found a hole, didn’t get hit
always meet Luigi the chef there
had coffee and talked
to pass our weekly wash hour
he does embassy parties
today another recap

an embassy place wealthy over the top tacky
impossibly thick marble table
gaudy claw handle chairs
a cardinal and three others
had four bottles of wine with dinner
two bottles of white and two of brunello di Montalcino
at fifty euros a pop
it’s good to be the king

it was my last Monday until the fall
i’ll miss the stories and the chaos of Roma
we walked back talking across the busy Corso
between speeding buses, taxis, autos and motorcycles
to the other side without pause in our steps
it was easy cause we’re well practiced
and didn’t get hit